Blueberries
by mikey magee
Summary: Kanan is the Ghost Crew's leader. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't back down. And doesn't surrender. But...that doesn't mean he can't get sick.


Hera had been more than adamant. Kanan was to stay in bed. She had told him multiple times.

"But Hera, I feel fine," Kanan said. He was lying, of course, but Hera already knew that. The sweat on his brow, and the hitch in his breath betrayed his true condition. He was sick, and Hera wasn't even allowing him to get out of bed, let alone accompany them on this mission.

"No, love." She gently pushed him down into his bed, "You need to stay and rest."

"And what if something goes wrong? You'll need me there."

Hera shook her head. She had been at this rebellion thing far longer than Kanan had. Most of what he knew now, she taught to him. It wasn't even a difficult OP, it was just an info gathering mission. With her spearheading the mission, and Zeb and Sabine as support, there'd be nothing to worry about.

"I'm having Ezra stay here to look after you," Hera said. "Try and get some rest." She patted his forehead, and headed towards the door.

Rest. Rest was something Kanan rarely had time for. How was it even possible for him to get sick? He hadn't had a fever since his time at the Temple. Back then, having a fever was never a problem. If was even kind of a good thing, your master would check on you. Your friends might even stop by after classes, drop off a card or two, and you could spend the entire day without meditating.

But that was during a time of peace, when the galaxy wasn't trying to swallow itself whole. He didn't have time for a running nose, or a phlegm clogged cough. And what was Hera even thinking? Most Ops always had surprises. That last one they ran on Lothal, with that Sith monster that nearly took out the entire crew without even trying. What if he came back? What if he were just waiting out there, trying to mount a surprise attack.

"I…" Kanan shot from his bed, his head rushed, and he nearly lost the innards of his stomach to the floor. He slowly leaned back down…this was torture. This was worst then when he was captured by the Inquisitor. Worse than when Count Vidian tried to rip his eye out back on Gorse. Worse than being hunted by clone troopers he thought were his friends. At least on those times, he could find a subtle was to resist. He could joke, mouth off, come up with a quick quip to ease his spirit. What could he do here? Just lay down and try not to puke everything up.

A knock. "Kanan?"

It was the kid.

"What is it Ezra?" Kanan called.

"You alright in there? I know I'm still new at this Jedi bond thing, but I'm sensing a lot of tension coming from you. Do you need something?"

Great. Now he was making the kid worry.

"No Ezra, I'm fine."

"Do you want some soup? I could make you some soup."

Kanan tried not to connect his palm to his face.

"Sure kid, soup sounds nice." He wasn't really hungry, he just needed Ezra out of his space for a minute. It was bad enough Kanan was making the kid wait on him, it'd be even worse if he made Ezra feel his anxiety as well. Ezra was the type of kid who focused on one task at a time, so while he was busy preparing soup, he wouldn't be thinking about the nervous tension bubbling up in the pit of Kanan's body.

When he lived on Corusant, the one thing he looked forward to when he was sick, was a visit from his Master, Depa Billaba. Attachment was forbidden, and that included any kind of familial feelings that arose between masters and padawans. Often times Kanan had to remind himself that Billaba was his master, and not his mother. But…sometimes that distinction was hard to make. His master always kept a firm distance between them. She instructed and he listened. He asked questions and she answered. When she gave orders, he did his best to follow them and make her happy.

She protected him when she could, and he did the same for her. It was a simple, normal, apprenticeship. And it always stayed that way…except when Kanan became sick. Whenever sickness struck, and Kanan found himself in bed, staring out a window, his master was by his side.

"How are you feeling Caleb?" she asked.

Kanan would smile, and tell her he felt absolutely fine.

"You shouldn't lie to your Master, Padawan." She could always tell when he didn't tell the whole truth.

"Don't you have other duties to attend to Master?" Kanan would ask, not wanting her to put off her errands just to comfort him. "I know how busy you must, plotting strategy for the war. And what about the canons on those fleets of Starships? Didn't you say you wanted to test them out today? And-"

She shushed him. Her hand firmly on her lips. "Caleb, you must learn to ease your mind. How can you recover if you never allow yourself to rest?"

Her concern was touching, and she was the one person he allowed to be concerned over him, even if he never let himself be honest about it. Master Billaba was a woman of contradictions. She was a master of almost every light saber battle form, and yet her instructions were always delivered with a gentle push, rather than a direct assault. What she wanted was implied, not ordered, and yet it always got done. Not even Obi-Wan could command with that kind of balance.

And sometimes, if Kanan managed to be quiet long enough, she'd even tell him a story of her Master Mace Windu, and how she mastered his fighting style. At night, when the rest of the Temple had gone to sleep, she would come into his room, with a bowl of frozen fruit. Peaches, oranges, kiwis, and fruits from outer rimed worlds.

"Take some of these," she told him, "They'll help break your fever. And they taste better than any of the medicine we have."

She passed him the bowl, and he took the peach. The fruit melted in his mouth, eased his throat, and cooled his brow. Calmed and balanced, cold yet soothed. She watch him, her eyes never wavering, and he'd sit in her presence. Not afraid, not uncomfortable, just happy to have someone near. Was this what having a family was like?

"Kanan?" Ezra, his young padawan, poked his head through the opening. The dream was shattered. Ezra walked through the door, holding a large bowl of soup that looked to be steaming. "Here." He placed it on the night stand, and dragged a chair up to Kanan's bedside. "How are you feeling now?"

Kanan gazed at the bowl of soup, and then at his young padawan. It was strange seeing Ezra this way. He was so used to towering over the young man, instructing him in practice, and guiding his meditation. He had never imagined he would be on his back, looking up, rather than above, and watching over.

"I'm feelin' good, kid. Thanks for the soup."

Ezra looked around the room, trying not to make eye contact. "Hera told me that I should take your temperature, give me one second." He moved to rise from his chair.

"No, it's fine." Kanan coughed into his fist, "Don't go through any trouble."

This wasn't working. Kanan could feel Ezra's worry dripping off of him, and Ezra could most like feel Kanan's frustration from being out of the action. All they were doing was making each other more anxious.

It was times like these that Kanan wished he were more like his own master.

Ezra stayed, situated himself back into the chair by Kanan's side, and placed his hands on his knees. Even without their bond, Kanan could feel Ezra's worry, it was scribbled all over the kid's face. And even worse, once Ezra chose to worry about something, nothing Kanan said or did could placate it. It was almost like Ezra was being rebellious in his worries, perhaps he was. Or perhaps he just did not want to lose a family a second time.

"Have you heard anything from Hera and the others?" Kanan asked, trying to get Ezra to speak.

"No, not yet, but I'm sure they're all fine. They're pros after all."

"Right. They're all fine."

Neither of them believed that. If Master Billaba was here, she'd probably shake her head at both of them for telling lies. Jedi should never tell lies, after all.

"Hey," Ezra said, cutting through the awkward silence that shrouded them, "I've got an idea. Wait right here." He nearly leapt from his chair, and ran through the door.

"There he goes again," Kanan said. He stared at the ceiling. Once Ezra got an idea, not even Empire Star Destroyers could keep him away from it, and Kanan simply didn't have the energy to try and inquire further. He could hear Ezra in the kitchen, digging through the cabinets, and the fridge. What was he up to?

Ezra came back into the room, this time holding a bowl, and a wide grin. "When I got sick, we sometimes didn't have enough credits for medicine." Ezra sat down on the chair and looked to Kanan, "So, what she would do is she would freeze some fruit for me, and use that to help with my cough."

Kanan's eyes grew wide and he peered into the bowl, and found frozen blueberries on the inside. They were chilled, and were even dusted with a little bit of sugar.

"Y-you made these?" Kanan asked.

"Well, when I heard you coughing a few weeks back, I thought you might be coming down with something. I-It was probably nothing, but I placed these in the cooling unit just to be safe." He handed the bowl the Kanan, "My mom always dusted them with a little sugar, just to be sure they'd taste nice."

Kanan gazed down…frozen fruit.

"Try one," Ezra said, "It'll help your throat, and get your mind off of everything."

He popped a berry into his mouth. It was nothing like Master Billaba's. It was sweet and tart. Where hers was balanced and cold, Ezra's was wild and unpolished. Some berries were fully frozen, and others hardly had any kind of frost on them at all. But, despite the drastic difference, it still soothed his chest. Just as his master's had.

"Thanks kid," Kanan said. His soup had long since grown cold. Blueberries, brash and tart. They made a mess on Kanan's fingers, staining them with blue blood. But they soothed. They crashed against Kanan's throat, and melted, too sweet to last.

"I should go," Ezra said, "Give you some time to rest,"

"No," Kanan said. "Stay." He wasn't sure why, but he knew that if Ezra left, he'd only feel worse than without him near.

And Ezra stayed. He sat down in the shade of Kanan's quarters. Kanan was still unnerved by the thought of having a padawan, he himself had never finished his training. But now, in this one moment, that didn't seem important. All that mattered was Ezra's constant belief in Kanan's abilities. The warm detachment that came whenever Ezra didn't understand something, and the easy confidence that aroused when the lesson finally sunk in. It was comfortable and smooth.

With Ezra near, Kanan felt his worries dissipate, melted away like the ice from an engine haul. He was just happy to have someone near. Just like Master Billaba.

"As soon as I'm feeling better kid, I'm gonna show you another lightsaber form, one my master learned from her master." Kanan coughed, and felt the congestion build up in his chest.

And Ezra patted his hand against Kanan's chest. A small gesture to comfort him. "I'd like that," he said, "I'd like that a lot.

The ease of a shared joke. The taste of blueberries prepared by a soul that was just as lost as your own, and the knowledge that you'll never be alone again. This is what having a family was. And Kanan was glad he had found his.


End file.
